Before I can reach him, his aunt sees me and I veer her way. Hugging her is like hugging my own mother, the love I hold for her made of the same cloth. She’s earned that love after the countless nights spent under her roof and thousands of smiles and laughs shared throughout the years. Even now she calls me Hijo. Son. For her, I stay strong, not letting the wave of emotion overwhelm me. Still, my heart breaks for her. She had already written Frank off as dead once. Mourned him. Made peace with it. Now she has to do so all over again. It’s cruelty I can’t put into words. I don’t even try to. I just hold her tight and tell her I’m here for her. That if there is anything she needs, all she has to do is ask.
I offer my condolences to the rest of her family as well. Of the three of them, Lena seems to be the only one holding it together. Brianna is a mess, breaking down as she hugs me. As for Rob, he just seems lost. I don’t know which is worse. Eventually, I work my way beside Felix. I glance at my friend. I’d be surprised if he’s caught more than a couple hours sleep since we were brought in.
“I never told him that I understood,” he says after a minute of straight silence. I turn to him, but he keeps his gaze focused on the water. “Joining the Animals. Doing the things he did...I never told him I understood why he did it. Never told him that I forgave him.”
“He knew, Chavo,” I say.
“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe he thought I hated him—that the reason I was so distant was because I couldn’t stand to look at him. Maybe he was just desperate to earn back my trust...maybe that’s why he died.”
His voice breaks on that last bit and I grip his shoulder. He tries to fling me off, but I hold on.
“Look at me, Chavo,” I say. He does, his shoulders suddenly slumped. Tired. The weight of it all crushing him. “Your uncle was a good man, the kind who would stop at nothing to protect his family. It’s why he did the things he did—why he joined the Animals in the first place. It’s the same reason he saved us that night. He wouldn’t have even thought twice before he acted. And he raised you into the same kind of man. So please believe me when I tell you that you didn’t need to tell him a thing. He already knew.”
He shudders, the tears he’s fought finally falling. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and turn, putting our backs to the room.
“Nothing about this is fair,” I say. “Nothing we do can ever make it so. All we can do is remember the lessons he taught us. Be the men he raised us to be. You’re my brother, Chavo. Always have been. We’ll pull through this and build something he’d be proud of. We’ll do it together.”
I say this because it’s what he needs to hear. He needs something to believe in, to hold on to. I do too. All this pain and hardship has to be for something. Even if I can’t feel it right now, it has to.
“Do you believe me?” I ask.
It’s several seconds before he can compose himself enough to answer. He clears his throat and turns to me, sparks clashing in his eyes.
“I’ve believed you since the day you pulled me to my feet in the sixth grade,” he says. “I’m not going to stop now.”
I stand with him a while longer, reflecting on the years that have bridged that day and now. It’s incredible the implications a single action can have. When Leon and I helped Felix that day, how could I have known I would grow to love him as a brother? When the world went dark, how could I know I would find the woman who is the light during my darkest hours? The longer I think, the more my thoughts wander. They continue long after Felix and I return to our families, wandering through an afternoon filled with mourning and unease. Because though I force smiles, and pretend as if all is well, there is a question that lingers in the back of my mind: Where do we go from here?
It’s a complicated question, one I fear there may not be an ideal answer to. For starters, who is “we”. My family certainly, but who else? Lylette? Will her people resent me? Will they blame me for Byron’s death? What of Lynn’s people? I convinced them to help us, now their leader is dead along with many others. Will they not harbor a grudge? What of the former Animals, the ones coerced into doing Barr’s bidding? Is that wise? Owen and Victor were both moles I failed to recognize. Who’s to say there weren’t three? Or four? How can there ever be trust after all that’s happened? Because though this war is over, its repercussions are as potent as ever.
There are seams among us. One look around the place and that much is clear. We may be under the same roof, but it’s obvious we are not all on the same page. Anger. Bitterness. Blame. Rage. The feelings remain, clotting the air like a foul stench. Barr’s death is not enough to wash it all away. And even though we’ve all lost people, we all grieve, those contentious feelings have to be directed somewhere. I feel that sting as we gather for an evening meal. I ignore it, my ravenous hunger my primary concern for at least the moment.
I practically inhale my food, even taking a second portion. I feel guilty, but the truth is, we actually have a small surplus now. And though the food tastes like ashes in my mouth, knowing the reason behind that surplus, I’m too hungry to stop. Not long after I find myself exhausted, my body spent even though I’ve only been awake for a handful of hours. Sensing this, Lauren guides me to our room. She curls into me beneath the covers, the warmth of her body warding off the chill of the room. I mean to tell her something. Something about how much I love her. But I find my eyes impossible to keep open. My mind already drifting off to sleep.
For once, I sleep through the night, waking only for the sound of someone knocking on our door. I leave the warmth of the bed to open it. Standing there is Leon, his face, for once, void of a grin.
“They’re gathering the bodies for the burial,” he says.
I clear my throat, an ominous feeling building in my stomach at the prospect. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”
We’re ready in two. Still, we don’t emerge, both of us mentally preparing for what waits for us outside these walls. In a lot of ways, this is harder than the battle that was fought. That was the rising of people fighting to break the chains Barr fixed over them. This is the price of that freedom. I’m not prepared to face it, but there is little choice in the matter. I extend my hand. Lauren takes it. And then we exit the room together.
Despite the early hour, we are some of the last to rise. Already a procession has formed through the lobby as the dead are moved outside. Some are transported by cart or wheelbarrow. Others are cradled in the arms of a loved one, their weight nothing compared to the grief they leave behind. I watch as they are loaded onto a flatbed truck which will transport them to the gravesite at the far corner of the lot.
We leave them to their work and exit the building. As we cross the lot, I tell myself not to look, to keep my eyes on the crowd that has gathered at the far right corner. But slowly, I find my eyes drawn to the far left, to the charred remains of the Animas Animals. Barr and his followers were put to the torch yesterday. I was unconscious at the time. Too bad. I’d have liked to see the prick burn. I’ll have to remain content with my final memory of him being as he lay dead at my feet. Still, it’s hard to believe that ash and bone are all that remains of the man who terrorized us. He can’t hurt us anymore. And yet, the wounds he inflicted during his time still fester.
I turn away from the pile with a shake of my head. Can’t dwell on it. I settle my eyes on the crowd ahead of me. I don’t look at the pile again. That’s the key, I think. Moving forward, and not looking back.
We take our place beside my parents, my breath catching in my chest as I lay eyes on the freshly turned earth before me. Sixty-three. That’s how many will be buried today. It’s a grim number, made all the grimmer by those unaccounted for. Search parties were dispatched yesterday, searching the debris of the warehouse attack and scouring the surrounding area for any survivors. There weren’t any. Only bodies. Even then, there are still those who are missing. We’ll likely never know the full number.
“We all deserve the opportunity to honor our dead.”
It’s what m
y mother said to get the others to coordinate the effort. They didn’t need much convincing. Any differences or hard feelings were put aside while they searched. Everyone has lost someone after all. Still, I’m unprepared for the sight before me.
A large trench has been carved into the earth. It measures roughly 20’x80’ and is nearly five foot deep. On the snow beside it is the ancient backhoe that made it all possible. The Animals used it to keep their patrol routes clear of snow. We use it for more practical means. Inside, the bodies are arrayed symmetrically, three lines deep and twenty-one across. Most are already laid out, covered by layered sheets that cocoon them head to toe. It’s a modest gesture, but one, I think, goes a long way. These people deserve more than to be thrown into a hole with nothing but the clothes they died in. They deserve more than we can provide. But we do the best we can with what we have.
The flatbed arrives, and the remaining bodies are laid down beside the rest. Watching the work is surreal. It could just as easily be me in the grave. It nearly was. Seeing all this death, being surrounded by so much grief, it makes me question whether it was worth it.
Freedom is never free.
I remember seeing the quote etched onto photos of men in uniform or set against rippling American flags. I remember admiring them, viewing them as one might a well-made painting, the words no more significant than the lyrics of a song. I never saw it and felt anything truly significant. But now? Well, that’s a different matter. Now I know the price. I’m staring it straight in its ugly face.
Barr was a tyrant. I know that. But even on his worst day, he never buried this many people. Would it not have been better to turn the other cheek where he is concerned? Then Felix walks up with his family, his aunt clutching his arm, and I feel the cold certainty take place. Barr upended their lives just as he upended the lives of all gathered. None of them asked for it. I certainly didn’t. What were we to do? Let him do as he pleased? Provide the muscle he needed to take over the rest of the town? To hell with that. He got what he deserved. Still, the price is more devastating than I would have ever thought.
All too soon the last body is laid down to rest, and the workers join us at the lip of the grave. Silence, heavy and oppressing settles over us. My mother may have suggested something along these lines, but it’s clear she is just as lost for words as the rest of us. Standing here, I can’t help but feel like we are at the precipice of a significant change. How many surround me? Two-hundred? More? All of us from different backgrounds, our stories as varied as our looks and personalities. And yet circumstance has brought us here, at the edge of this massive grave. Does that not mean something?
Where do we go from here?
I am no closer to answering the question than I was yesterday. But I am not alone in that. I know because I feel the same uncertainty in those around me. Not a person among us can claim they know the path forward. I certainly don’t. But I do know what hasn’t worked in the past.
Our farm was never the solution we needed. There were too many issues, too many threats against us for it to last. Even with the Animals destroyed, the world is far from a safe place. There are those who might look at their downfall and see opportunity, a vacuum of power they could try and capitalize on. If that happens, my family won’t be able to stand alone.
I look down the line of mourners till I find Lylette. She stands at the head of her people. All twenty of them. Twenty. They used to be over seventy strong, used to have a ranch that put our small farm to shame. But even they crumpled beneath the weight of Barr’s army. And now here they are, standing beside many who attacked them, forced together to fight a common enemy. That can’t be easy. The anger, the blame must simmer even now. But they did it because it gave them and their loved ones the best chance to survive. It’s the same reason Lylette and Byron risked so much recruiting others to their ranch.
The time for standing alone has passed. That’s what Byron said during his pitch to recruit us. He was right. I know because when I look back on all this, I wouldn’t be here if it were not for the help of others. Hawkins, the deputy in Salida who vouched for me when it would have been easier to let his people kill me. The farmer, Elroy. He took us in, feeding and sheltering us in our most dire hour on the Trail. Val and Mack, Frank’s associates among the Animals. Without them, Leon and I would have died under Boss’s interrogation, and Frank might never have freed his girls and reunited with his family. As for the events that ensued after, well, we certainly would not have been able to take on Barr without help.
I turn and find Lauren meeting my eyes expectantly. I don’t say a word. She already knows, squeezing my hand with a small nod. I squeeze back and step forward. Eyes follow me as I climb the mound of earth and frozen snow beside the grave. Looking out at the assembled crowd, I’m hit with a sense of vertigo. What can I possibly say to reach these people? My eyes flick to the grave, to the rows of bodies lining the bottom. It helps find my voice.
“I don’t know all of you. I’m sorry about that. And I don’t mean to overstep or come off as presumptuous by standing here...But if I don’t speak now, I’m afraid I won’t get another chance to do so.”
I pause, giving them a chance to speak out. None do so. That’s something, at least.
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure where to start,” I say. “Since I woke up, I’ve been having trouble believing this is real—that this war with Barr and his followers is actually over. I thought I’d feel more, I don’t know, relieved? Celebratory? I thought I would at least feel closure. But the truth is, I don’t feel any of that. It’s hard to feel any sense of joy when so many we love are dead. It’s hard to feel closure when there is still so much unanswered.
“As I said before, I don’t know you all. But I’m willing to bet, not a person among us can say with any certainty where to go from here. I sure as hell don’t. The only thing I know is that in this world, none of us can hope to survive alone. If we leave here today, all of us on separate paths, then those paths are destined to be short. That’s the one thing I am certain of.”
There’s the murmuring. The reaction of the crowd as they understand what I’m proposing. As expected, it’s not met with universal agreement. Far from it.
“Listen to this man!” yells a red-faced man near my left. “Barr’s been dead a whole day, and already he wants to fill his shoes. Is that what this is all about? This is your ploy to gain our trust so you can use us the way he did?”
There it is. The man gives voice to one of my hidden fears—that I will cross too many lines to keep my family safe—that I will become someone I do not recognize. To the east, the first of the sun’s rays peaks over the horizon, bathing the crowd in a warm light. And one stands brighter than all of them. I meet Lauren’s gaze and feel my resolve hardening. I may not be the man I once was, but neither am I a man like Barr. I never will be. She’d never let me sink that far into darkness.
“I’m not Barr,” I say. “I don’t want to use you. Don’t want to rule. What I want is the same thing I have wanted since the world went dark: to create a life of peace for those I love. For a long time, that idea felt like a fantasy. A dream. There was just so much working against it. But now? It doesn’t seem so impossible. I look at you, and do you know what I see?”
I pause as if someone might care to take a guess. None do. Even those who watch on skeptically, do so in silence.
“I see myself,” I say finally. “I see men and women who would do whatever it takes to protect those they love. Despite our differences, we came together for a united purpose: to take out the man who made our lives hell. We did that.” I point to the grave. “They did that.”
There’s a silence, heavy with respect.
“Sixty three...God, I can’t get that number out of my head. Nothing can be said or done that will ever make that right. But at the risk of sounding cliche, what we can do is make sure they did not die in vain. We owe it to them to build something better. We owe it to ourselves. More importantly, we owe it to thos
e who come after—our children and their children after them. They deserve a better life than this. And they won’t have one unless we build it.”
The crowd reacts to that. Parents pull their children closer, hug them tighter. Tears fill eyes as they look from me to the grave where lie their spouses, children, brothers, sisters. I look at my family. I watch as Vince holds his wife, her hand cradling her stomach where their baby grows. I watch Abigail nuzzling closer to her mother who rubs her back comfortingly. There is still so much worth fighting for.
“So what do you suggest?” a woman at the far end of the grave asks. She has to shout to be heard. “Now I’m not saying we shouldn’t try and make a better life for ourselves and our children. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. But do you honestly believe we can move forward together? All of us?”
She looks skeptical, shaking her head. She’s not the only one either.
“I’ve been here a long time, and believe me when I say I’ve seen things I wish I could forget. I’ve done things I wish I could forget. We all have. Do we just pretend they didn’t happen? Forgive and forget? Raise our children beside people we don’t fully trust, taking it on faith that they are good—that they were only acting under the orders of a monster and are not monsters themselves? How will that ever work?”
It’s a question I was expecting. One, admittedly, I don’t know how to answer. I can’t, because no two people are the same. What one person might forgive, another will hold a grudge till the end of time. Over two-hundred watch me, waiting for my response. I’ll never convince them all. But hopefully, I can convince enough. To do that, I can’t bullshit them. So I tell the truth.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “All of us have lost. All of us have suffered. I lost a friend I loved like a sister. A woman who was as close as my own mother. No doubt, some of you had your hands in those deaths. I could hate you for that. If we’re being honest, part of me still does. But even if I killed everyone who was involved, then what? It wouldn’t bring them back. Only my hate would remain, and I would be lesser for having given in to it.
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow Page 35